


Silent Comfort

by Fujiwara_no_Seimei



Series: Nishiura Comfort Series [1]
Category: Ookiku Furikabutte
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-03
Updated: 2010-08-03
Packaged: 2017-10-10 22:16:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/104949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fujiwara_no_Seimei/pseuds/Fujiwara_no_Seimei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He expected fan-clubs for cool people like Hanai and Tajima.  Even Mihashi had supporters. But for him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> This piece takes place after the Bijou Dai-Sayama game, and subsequently contains spoilers regarding its conclusion.

It seemed too timely to be coincidental.

Oki Kazutoshi had been more than a little depressed, lately, not quite over the loss of the game against Bijou Dai-Sayama that he considered entirely his fault. He tried to pretend as well as he could, but worried glances from his teammates made it clear that they knew.

They tried their best to console him in a round about way, and from the moment it happened Abe had told him to forget about it. And he must have meant it, because one bad catch from Mizutani earned him the nickname "shit left," but apparently putting Abe out of commission for weeks with a bad throw did not warrant a nickname.

So when he saw the flyer on the floor, he quickly decided that it was probably not bullying so much as it was a call to comfort. "Oki Kazutoshi Secret Fanclub," it read, with a phone number to call in order to organize a cheering club, just for him. It made him smile, as he'd always assumed fan clubs were reserved for cooler players like Hanai or Tajima. Even Mihashi had a following, but him?

No one on the team seemed to have caught wind of it, that first day, as no one mentioned it. He figured he had some across a stray flier that hadn't been meant for him to see. As he stretched that afternoon, he ruminated over the origin of it- maybe there was no fanclub, just the one person who had made the flyer. Maybe no one had called.

He wondered who she was. The girl who made it, tried to make the fanclub. Three days later, he had convinced himself of his story- that there was no fanclub proper, just the one girl with a crush on him. He envisioned her as a sweet, unassuming, lithe girl. Quiet and polite. But he also figured she was in his class, considering he'd found the flyer in the room by the door. He couldn't place a classmate in that description, and had spent one day of class scanning faces in the room until he got yelled at for not paying attention.

On the eighth day after discovering it, the paper had grown worn from being folded in his pocket wherever he went. If it had meant to cheer him up, it had succeeded, because in moments of doubt, he would tap his pocket and feel that the note was there, it was real, and someone was supporting him.

He knew he couldn't carry it around anymore, otherwise it would disintegrate.

So on that day, after everyone else had changed and run out to the field, Oki hung back for just a second. Unfolding it carefully, he re-realized that there was a phone number. Surely that number would lead to the creator of the note? He knew he should be getting to practice, but curiosity overwhelmed him. The sudden fantasy unfolding in his head of reaching this girl, hitting it off, marrying her. And his fingers were trembling as he pressed the buttons and brought the phone to his ear.

When the phone rang on the other end, it took him a second to process the fact that there was a second ringing, in time.

It was in the room, with him. Suddenly, he became confused, and snapped his phone shut. The second ringing stopped.

Now his fantasies were crashing down. Someone had been teasing him all along. Was it Tajima? He had stupid ideas about what cheered people up, but he'd never follow through with a plan like this. Maybe Izumi? He was kind of an asshole sometimes.

Near tears, Oki dialed again. Maybe it was a coincidence.

But it wasn't, and the phone rang simultaneous with his own again. With nerves rattling, he followed the sound. Across the room. He moved so slowly that the phone went to voice mail (but an electronic-voiced, anonymous voicemail that gave no identification) and he had to dial a second time.

Now he was face to face with the bag that was ringing, and when realization washed over him of whose it was, he relaxed. He wasn't being teased at all.

He turned over the strap to confirm his assumption, and there was scrawled the name "Nishihiro," in neat characters.

Oki blushed a little, fantasies still long gone, but comforted in the fact that Nishihiro was not one to tease- it wasn't in his nature. And he, too, was suffering from guilt from the Bijou game. And suddenly he was crying a little. He wanted to hug Nishihiro, thank him for his support, tell him how important it had been to him in surviving this past week. That he was selfless and wonderful and one of the best people he had ever known.

Oki wiped his face quickly, realizing it was only a matter of time before someone came looking for him. Practice had surely begun by now. He stuffed the note, neatly folded, into his bag, and blinked the last few tears out of his eyes before running out and locking the door.

When he appeared on the field, the team shouted at him for being late, and he joined them in the circle. He squeezed between Nishihiro and Hanai deliberately, even though room had been made for him next to Suyama, but no one seemed to notice.

And Oki took Nishihiro's hand and held it a little too tight. And Nishihiro held back, hand shaking a little, then warming gradually as the morning sun rose to it's place in the sky over the field.


End file.
